Sappho's Demise
by Venus Gospel
Summary: Even after so many years with parted paths, broken lovers will meet again. Each one living in their own world of insanity. One broken and delusional, the other torn up and wrapped up in a personality you don't want to encounter at the wrong time. In the meanwhile, a lunatic leaves a bloody trace on its way through ambigous etablissments. Gore and Violence in coming chapters.
1. Prologue

Drumming her fingers against the dark wooden table's surface, hazel coloured eyes examined the office in slight boredom. She scanned the dark and heavy, obviously antique interior in annoyance. Except white walls, everything was cramped with old photographs and paintings, mostly portraits. A cabinet of antiquity to put it nicely. As long as she worked here, the woman had wished for a bright and friendly, more modern kind of office, but one condition in the contract said to keep this place the way it was. No extra-ordinary painting-jobs, no modern furniture made of plastic or metal, in short: nothing futuristic. People would feel more comfortable in a setting like this. That's what the previous doctor said.

The woman paid close attention to her neatly trimmed French nails before her glimpse trailed off to the heavy chair in front of her desk; with a frown she noticed the umbra tinted leather peeling off around the stitches. Probably it was about time to purchase a new one soon.

Well, what a joke.

On the other hand, she had been a perfectionist and on top of that, a purist. Maybe, but only maybe it was a bad habit of hers, a tick to say it nicely. Everybody had habits and ticks, even reasonable ones like in her case. It felt like old clocks, book shelves and dark stained wooden furniture held her back in personality. Did it have the same effect on her clients? She better hoped so. Coming back to weird behaviour, she took care of those whose abnormalities clearly went overboard.

Day by day, Jihl Nabaat listened to them.

To their phobias, miserable childhood memories, the feeling of being useless or suicidal. She knew that every poor soul coming into her office was necessary for her own living and vice versa. But sometimes – yeah, sometimes she grew tired of her occupation. She wasted years at Eden's university, worked hard for her diploma; only for – yes – this. A small office and a list of lunatics she had to take care of and help. Jihl wanted more, but wanting too much couldn't keep her from falling, making mistakes. One of the so-called failures tossed the woman off her personal Olympus to success and granted a harsh impact in the cruel, cold world of Bodhum city.

Speaking of wackos.

Her gaze trailed to the ancient wall clock, following the pendulum's monotone movement while her ears rang in response to the everlasting tick..tock, the sound reminded her of a metronome. It threatened to drive her nuts. Was it already this late? And also, did Jihl spent all day here without a single client? That was new. If it went on like this, she would bring a book for the next day. Or a few Sudokus to kill time since she read every book on the enormous shelf behind her work space.

Anyways; it was time to get her lunch.

Tossing long blonde hair over her shoulders, sleek woman moved from the seat, arching her back as it throbbed in protest, reminding her of the stiffness she had to deal with. Her mind was occupied to pick any restaurant that would satisfy her needs in 30 minutes and Jihl had the feeling that she would only make it to the coffee shop on the other side of the crossroad or even the Japanese restaurant which was located in the same building as her office. The woman was so tired of food that tasted all the same, but it had to be done fast and consumed even faster. Once she had to deal with humans in need of her advise she wouldn't let them wait. It was a simple no-go.

Fixing the slim reading glasses and reaching out for her black purse from Gucci (one of the more fancy accessories Jihl had at home to show that she wasn't an average woman and by god, she was anything else than AVERAGE), the woman made herself ready to go and grabbed the anthracite coloured jacket, fitting her suit that contained a white blouse and black knee-length skirt. Ten minutes before her lunch break would even start. But well... it wasn't like anyone would ruin her plans yet, right?

However – fate was a bitch; As usual.

The phone rang. God, she hated that sound. Especially when it had to ring ten minutes before lunch. Rolling her eyes, the woman swung herself onto the office chair to slide the unlock-button and activate the speaker.

"Jihl, Ms. Farron wants to see you. But I see that she doesn't have an appoint-"

"It's alright, Mara," the blonde sighed lowly, "send her in."

Rubbing her nose bridge, she settled down once more and collected her composure. Farron? She didn't show up for a long time. This was going to be interesting and time-consuming for sure. This woman was a real challenge, a tough nut to crack so to speak of.

A harsh and short knock at the door brought Nabaat back into reality. Straightening herself and fixing the glasses once more, she cleared her throat.

"Please, come in."

The door swung open and closed in a fast and silent manner. The woman that stepped in was medium sized, slender with indications that her former body type used to be very athletic. Jihl knew the facts of her client without looking into her folders; Photographic memory. She surely was gifted in some areas.

Farron Claire, age 25. Single. PTSD, addiction to medications thanks to phantom pain, monosyllabic person; traumatized by a close-to-death experience, an assault as far as she could tell from the newspapers. She didn't know all details yet; just the rough idea. The woman already received treatment from the police psychologists although they seemed to give up on her soon, clashing against the rough attitude of someone who just didn't want to talk and curled up into a shell of bitter silence.

A challenge indeed.

"Hello Claire. Have a seat~"

Jihl's voice sounded calm and soothing as if she talked to a wounded animal because in fact, Claire Farron was one of them. Deeply hurt, stirred. Just too proud to open up properly and allow herself to cooperate with the woman.

Hazel eyes lingered on steel-blue hues that only allowed others to see what she wanted them to see. Her face showed slight skin irritations as if she had scratched herself open, a sign of agitation and aggressions towards herself. It started slowly by scratching yourself open, moving further to ripping out eyelashes, eyebrows, facial hair. The next stage... well, she didn't want to continue that journey inside her head. It could have also been a sign of stress.

Light reddish streaks disturbed her otherwise marvellous pale epidermis. Champagne-coloured hair framed a heart-shaped face with doll-like features, gushing down her left shoulder in soft waves. Jihl's gaze didn't leave her counterpart's appearance and trailed down the grey tank-top, black chequered scarf and torn jeans, ending at worn out black Converse sneakers while Claire slouched rather displeased on the nostalgic seat with incredibly comfortable cushions that threatened to swallow her whole; crossing her legs and repeating this action with her arms the woman settled and created the well-known invisible wall she had built up since the first appointment.

"You started chewing your fingernails again," Nabaat stated calmly, only to see the young woman flinch barely unnoticed. She seemed to have nightmares again... or anything else that had bothered her since the last visit.

"You didn't show up for quite a while. Any reason for that?"

Silence. The usual kind. It was eerie, awkward. Claire clicked her fingernails together, matching the sound of the wall clock. She always did it since she came here the first time. And it left Jihl at growing displeasure. She only hid it very well behind the cloak of professional objectivity.

"Been busy."

The answer was short, precise. Just like a cut with a knife.

"I see. And what exactly kept you from showing up?"

The addressed woman licked her dry lips and started to lean further into the seat.

"I got a job. Night-shifts..."

Jihl lifted a finely curved eyebrow in recognition.

"Really? Look, that's a good progress you made! Does it have anything to do with your old occupation?"

"...What makes you think that?" Farron huffed. It seemed like a tiny brick crumbled and fell out of the wall.

"You said once that you would like to pick up your work at the police again if I remember correctly."

"I work as a bouncer. In a nightclub."

The brick got replaced once more and left Jihl sighing lowly, pushing the glasses up her nose bridge.

"Do you like it?"

For once, Claire snorted with a ghost of a smile flitting across her face.

"Who wouldn't? It's for a living. I get good payment. Although... the boss is slightly 'affectionate'. Not like I would mind."

"I see. How is the place called you work at?"

The blonde leaned forwards expectationally. Claire pursed her lips and clicked her tongue as she looked to the side, fixing the wall clock.

"Eight Heaven."

Eight Heaven. Really...

It rang a bell and Jihl found it hard to hold her amusement back to a decent level. A Lesbian club. Not even an ordinary one, but for women who were looking for a little thrill with handcuffs, a tiny adventure every now and then. This was delicious. Claire was really full of surprises. It didn't take Nabaat long to state the obvious that she must have favoured the female gender. So much for that.

"I know the owner. One of her friends used to be a client of mine." Jihl's smile widened in hope to encourage her female counterpart to open up a little more.

"... Right." Ruffling champagne-colored hair, the woman only snorted and shrugged. "Who doesn't know her? Davis-Stonefield is quite a name in Bodhum."

"Indeed," Nabaat admitted in dry fashion and cocked her head. In the meanwhile she tried to find out why her lost one returned like that and she straightened herself. "Anyway-,I can't get rid of the feeling that there is something you want to talk about. Why else would you show up before my sacred lunch-break?"

Jihl's gaze went to examine Claire's crossed arms. As if on unspoken command they unfolded and hands fiddled around in unease, picking the hem of her scarf to occupy themselves. Her fingers were shaking visibly as she nodded shortly and swallowed. So predictable.

"The phantom pain again I assume?"

Another nod followed.

Claire slipped uneasily in her seat and tried to ignore the fact that her therapist seemed to know her better with every time she came to beg. Begging. Didn't that sound poor on its own? Chewing her thumbnail the woman slouched further into the chair and narrowed her eyes.

"Claire? You know I'm not a doctor, are you aware of that? I can't give you a prescription every time you ask me to. Wouldn't it be better to focus on the source of your pain instead of treating just the symptoms?"

"What if I just give a flying damn about the cause? I know what it caused and there's nothing more to add OR analyse! I just want to get rid of the pain, for fuck's sake!"

Jihl sighed and leaned back, crossing her arms as well.

"Well... I don't know the cause yet. It would be only fair if you cared to enlighten me~"

Farron licked her lips and hissed. That didn't go well, did it?

"Let me guess. As long as you don't know the reason you won't give me anything at all. That's blackmailing..."

The blonde smiled, but it was only thin and shallow. Slowly she approached her goal and drove the woman into a corner, right where she wanted her to be.

"That's not blackmailing, Claire. I am your therapist and I need information to start the treatment that suits you best. As long as you don't give me what I need to work with I doubt that we can get you the proper treatment. Besides. If you're not satisfied with my methods, feel free to leave and return to your old therapist at the police. It's up to you..."

Claire sighed deeply and tipped her head back, tapping a foot against the oriental carpet, and casting a fleeting glance towards it. You could see its age; the previous owners didn't take good care of it. She was sure that its former colour used to be white with bold patterns in crimson, brown and black. By now it had an awful tint of mud-grey to it. Nothing she really appreciated.

"It's not going to work like that, Nabaat."

Her voice sounded firm as she attempted to lift from the chair until her left knee reminded her of the reason why she had cared to show up in the first place. With a painful hiss she settled back down. Jihl didn't miss the sign of weakness and pinned her down with an intense gaze.

"I'm afraid it is, Claire..." she replied laconically and forced her counterpart to look at her. "You came here in the first place. Of course I won't force you to stay, but instead of running off I'd recommend to open up a little more..."

Open up her ass. Farron furrowed her finely curved brows and pressed herself deeper into the seat with a barely audible scowl.

"Why can't you just fill out the prescription and let me be?"

The therapist couldn't help it but laugh softly in slightest mockery.

"Because I'm a therapist. It's my job to torture you until everything's revealed."

"..."

Claire cleared her throat, close to jumping right over the table and strangle that woman, once and for all.

"That's doesn't sound very client-friendly..." she only murmured and frowned, earning a chuckle.

"I know it doesn't. But any other client is willing to cooperate with me to achieve success." Nabaat arched her brows and fixed her reading glasses with a sly smile, "Just to quote you, Claire: Deal with it."

"Tch."

The addressed woman scoffed and tossed her head back, a strange mix of aggression and repression apparent in her expression. She really wouldn't get far like this. It only turned out to be a cat-and-mouse chase and for now Claire was pretty sure that her role was the mouse – not the feline. How unpleasant.

What to do? She could just go and leave! Then why the hell didn't she do it?

"... What do you want to hear so I get the fucking prescription?" she mumbled and exhaled deeply.

"It's not THAT easy. Even if I know the cause of your physical pain, it's only the scratched surface. We need to go deeper, maybe I have to hit so deep that it hurts you even more. But once it's revealed we can talk about antidepressants and beta-blockers."

Farron knew it. Same old story. Fucking same old deal. She slipped on the seat's cushion and dug her fingers into the armrest.

"Please... Jihl", it was rare that she used her therapist's first name to communicate with her, only to grant a certain distance wavering above them, "I. Need. Them. We can talk about the shit next time; just give me what I need to feel better. Please!"

Nabaat shook her head. Really? Kneading her nose bridge she gave up for now. It could cost her the job once the wrong person would find out and still...

She took her blue and gold-framed pen, opening a tiny accounting booklet and filled out whatever Claire desired, but she stopped in the middle.

"Only one question. When did that injury happen?"

A short sigh and Farron knitted her brows, trying to remember. It was really long ago.

"High school time."

"Alright. According to your build you must have attended a sport club. Heptathlon?"

Claire shook her head.

"No. Track-runner."

"Really?" Well... it seemed to suit her, Nabaat thought to herself as she took notes. "Guess you were pretty good at it."

"Used to be a top runner. Wanted to become professional."

Jihl lifted a brow, highlighting the stenographic notes in front of her. "A professional? What kept you from it?" She paused and straightened her back. "Did you have a sporting injury?"

She looked up directly, right into steel-blue eyes. Something happened, something changed. A part of the wall crumbled as Claire clenched her fingers and dug them into the fabric of her jeans.

"...No. It would have been something that could have been treated by the school's scholarship."

The blonde therapist tried to stay neutral but for a moment she was burning from curiosity yet she felt a little sorry. A ruined career; no wonder she had been so jaded. She listened clearly and set the pen's tip onto the paper, a tiny blob of ink startling her.

"If it wasn't a sporting injury... what else?"

Silence. No, don't go back into your shell, Jihl cursed inwardly. "Look, if you don't want to-"

"Accident."

The word was spoken softly, almost frail. Claire lowered her lids and inhaled.

"Motorcycle. I was only the passenger."

She closed her eyes and remembered the happening as the movie played inside her mind.

It was bucketing down on Bodhum's highway as the couple was on their way back from Palumpolum. Before they went home there was an argument. Claire couldn't really remember what it has been about, but emotions were on fire and... yes.

Traffic light. She only saw how it changed to red and felt the machine's engine roar, the tires losing grip to the ground. The driver pulled the brakes but they slipped right onto the crossroad... and after that... only darkness. Followed by white as Claire woke up later in hospital.

"The injury was so bad that I couldn't attend the track any longer. I tried though. I really tried and worked on it, but I never reached my old marks. Quit the team, lost my scholar for sport. Had to find a job."

Nabaat only listened; the pen left a scratching sound on textured paper. Now, all of a sudden it worked. Farron had never been so talkative before and she had a feeling that she should have pushed it. But Jihl dropped that idea quickly. It was about time to give Claire the "treat" she deserved and brought her attention back to the prescription.

Signing it quickly she ripped out the original paper, keeping the copy to herself.

"Well done. There you go. But don't tell anyone, you hear me? It could cost my job."

With quivering hands, Claire took the paper and nodded hastily.

"Thank you..." she breathed, glad that this session seemed to be over for now.

"Please come by again next week. We have something to work with now."

"... Right. We'll see."

Jihl smirked. She was sure that Claire would show up once more. This sort of painkillers was strictly limited and would only hold on for a week. She HAD to come over, if she wanted or not. The blonde watched her counterpart heaving up from the seat, groaning lowly at the sharp pain torturing her.

"Need help?"

Claire only stared at her.

"I don't need help. I don't need anyone."

"See you next week!"

The door closed behind Farron with a remarkable slam.

* * *

Claire fell onto the couch as she finally made it home from the pharmacy store, dropping the pill box on the white glass table next to the furniture she was resting on. Even if she wanted to, the young woman wouldn't have been able to move any further. The pain was dominating her mind, shutting off any other thoughts and emotions; a fleeting glance to the calendar on the wall. She was supposed to work today. At... 9 pm. Right?

"Fuck..." she hissed and tucked a pillow between her knees to disencumber the pained leg. Each thump of her heartbeat throbbed remarkably, making the leg tremor in reflex. Reaching out with one hand she grabbed the pillbox and clutched it as if her life depended on the chemical relievers. Wasn't she supposed to take it with water?

Hastily Claire looked around and tucked champagne strands of hair behind her ear. There was only a bottle of Jack on the table, a package of cigarettes, a lighter and a skull-shaped crammed full ashtray on the glass table. She used an arm to keep herself up and opened the box, popping a white pill out of the package. Well... no water? Fuck that, a sip of Jack to flush it down wouldn't kill her. The woman sighed in resignation and threw in the medication, taking one, two sips of Jack Daniels afterwards.

Claire hated to swallow pills. But she could accept the growing lump in her throat, as long as the sensations and the bliss would replace it later. Sinking back into the couch, the woman stared blankly at the wall and waited for the effects to kick in, catching sight of a framed photo of herself with a gold medal hanging around her neck. Good old times; a faint smile. Too bad it wouldn't come back, she thought to herself bitterly. Another glance was thrown at the digital clock on the end of the room. 3:41 pm. There was enough time to rest. If she would wake up later to get ready for work, the pain was gone. She was sure of that. At least medicinal drugs wouldn't disappoint her in life like other things... happenings... persons.

Her heavy lids fluttered close and with a deep exhale she relaxed. She only waited for the medication to work, tilting her head to the side; champagne-coloured hair covered her facial features like a veil. And while she drifted off to sleep, an image hushed through the corner of her conscience. Dark messy hair; a pair of deep green eyes, the gaze loving and a laugh she liked to remember...


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 2

_1400 to 1600 cm³, a weight of 1,4 to 1,6 kg. A construction of synapses, neurons, axons, dendrites. Grey matter. The controlling-station of the human mind, body function and "soul". You might know what I am talking about. The human brain, such a simple yet amazing structure once you look at it. A disturbing view in tiny jars filled with Formaldehyde; swimming, almost floating agonizingly slow with its consistence of soft goo. A warning. A mockery. However. It looks simple, and still – isn't it amazing what that bit of "goo" is capable of? _

_The human learns all life long, the most in its first years of existence. Perception. Realisation. Training your five senses; Optics, Tactile sense, Acusthesia, Olfactus and Gustus. Balance. Behaviour. All of it depends on the brain, on its functions and abilities to develop, to learn. People learn from mistakes, they adjust to situations. However; how everyone alters and learns from consequences is an individual trait. _

_People say that babies are already born with their own defined character. I don't think so. Not at all. A newborn is like a blank sheet of paper. Experiences act as writing tool, scribbling impressions onto the empty document in a language far too abstract for us to understand._

_I should know best. Life formed me, created me. You dare to complain? None is born good or evil. Life is what makes you "good". Parents make you choose the "right" path; well, whatever they claim to be right. Wrong behaviour will be punished, not tolerated. They will shape you until they are proud of their creation. And while you walk, all formed and designed by your environment's imagination, you are still empty, looking for something like a sense, a purpose for your existence. Have you found out already? What is your purpose?_

_Well... mine is to strive for better. You are just sheep. Not in the common sense of course. But look closer. You humans act like them. You never stray around on your own, no. You prefer to stick to the herd, wearing the same pelt as everybody else. Don't stay out of the masses. Be invisible. Don't be yourself, be somebody else. Smile if you feel like crying. Cheer and celebrate although you rather want to roam and roar. That is what sheep do, next to grazing aka gulping down fast-food in front of your TVs._

_But not me. I am the beast. _

_Many humans tried to shape me. Many have punished me. But I had a mind on my own ever since. I don't even remember when I started to exist, when I was born. It was too long ago. But it was me who tore the belt when it promised harm once more. I stood up and showed them my borders. I am the one watching over you, my little lost lambs._

_I can turn you into a wolf, you know?_

_You will understand soon. You are the one equipped with a heart after all._

_Heart. _

_Isn't it a fascinating organ? It does not matter that a human hand is the most complicated set of bones, 27 to be exact._

_-Carpal bones, proximal; Os scaphoideum. Os lunatum. Os triquetrum and Os pisiforme._

_-Carpal bones, distal; Os trapezium. Os trapezideum. Os capitatum and Os hamatum._

_-Metacarpal bones; Os metacarpale primum, secundum, tertium, quartum, quintum._

_And of course, Ossa digitorum manus. But I am sure that you already lost focus by figuring out the carpal bones, so I show mercy and spare you with details. Back to the important thing. The human heart..._

_Once, it was the heart being the centre of the human mind and soul. Medical Scientists, of course. They would know better. The heart is only a muscle without feelings, and what a muscle it is. Only as big as an adult's clenched fist, but capable of so much power. It is that underrated engine that really keeps us going. On top of that, a mystery to all of us. What does it take to start the machinery? What makes it pump all live long and why does it start beating, just like that? _

_A medic could give you all the answers, while I ask the questions from the philosophical point of view. Isn't a heart just like a perpetuum mobile? Always moving on its own without the spark that causes the motion? Not quite. One day it stops beating. Some hearts work longer, some don't. Maybe because humans don't care about their health, smoking, drinking and eating uninhibitedly while planting their fat asses into office seats every day. _

_Crapulence. Society's answer to everything. Where you and I come from, people had to do something for their living. And by that, I don't mean office-work with a beer and an occasional fuck at night, let alone if they pay for it or not. But really, what does it matter if it is a prostitute or their "partner"? Mankind pays for both._

_Even the partner, wife or husband, is a prostitute. You get something if you do something. Yes ladies, I mean you. Spread your legs, let him in, expect a little shitty pair of earrings or, for the spoiled kind, a short trip? Pelts? A car maybe? For the less privileged, attention before he rolls to the side and snores all night which causes you to walk into the kitchen and find comfort in a glass of wine. I have seen all of it. And I ended so many of their miserable little lives already. Still, it's not enough._

_It NEVER is enough._

_Humans don't know how well they are doing here. Complaining about the smallest things while they literally bask in their materialism like pigs in dirt. Yes. It seems to be the fitting allegory to a race that is filled to the brim with a double-sided moral. They hurt while they cry if they get hurt themselves. They punish people for doing the wrong things but do exactly the same behind closed curtains! I am so sick of your sanctimoniousness. _

_But don't worry._

_The wolf is on his way._

_~ ~ ~_

_~Hey Miss Murder can I_

_make beauty stay if I_

take my life~

Visions blurred as Claire lifted her head, forcing herself to open her eyes wearily. Her limbs felt numb as the woman shifted on the couch, she groaned in great discomfort while the cell phone rang and buzzed on the glass table, the raw music of AFI made its way into her ears; the vibrations sounded shallow and unreal against the underground the device was placed on. Who the hell was calling since she didn't expect anyone? Any sense of time and space was wiped away so she could only guess that it must have been around evening already.

Ruffling her hair the young woman managed to force herself into a sitting position; champagne-coloured strands hid her facial features while she drowsily ran her fingers through messy hair. They felt oily and gross- a shower would be highly appreciated later. But... oh. Phone. She watched it with a diffuse expression, almost impassively; the vibrations caused the device to move on its own, closer to the table's edge where it dropped. Claire's reaction was surprisingly swift when she finally woke from her paralysis, reaching out and catching the phone mid-air. A glance onto the display revealed who was calling and she knitted her finely curved eyebrows in displeasure. Serah, her youngest sister. What did she want?

Slide to unlock. Her thumb brushed over the front to answer the call.

"Hey Claire."

A moment of awkward silence. It had been a while since their last decent dialogue.

"... Hey." she answered dryly and didn't bother stifling the yawn that followed next. The woman felt as if a tank had parked on her body during sleep and by the gods, she just loved to show that Serah's call wasn't something she looked forward to.

Now it was her sibling's time to pause.

"Did I wake you?"

A snort.

"Oh of course not," Claire murmured and rubbed her forehead, shifting into an upright position with a tiny snarl, "I just waited all day long for someone to call me since I have no life...who needs sleep anyway."

"So I woke you up."

Congratulations, little-Miss-Obvious.

"...Pretty much so."

"Sorry, I didn't know you were asleep. Usually you are awake around five."

Claire arched a brow and rubbed her nose bridge. It was only five? God, she wanted to sleep two more hours! This was going to be a long night at the club without decent rest.

"Well, obviously I planned on sleeping longer for my shift tonight!"

She licked her lips and could have sworn to hear Serah gulping at the other end of the line. Good job, make her feel guilty. Maybe she would hang up.

"Shift? Oh dear, how silly of me!"

The older sibling groaned and rested her head against the backrest of the couch, idly staring at the cigarettes that almost sung to her with the tempting voice of a siren. She just couldn't resist and activated the speakers of her phone to reach out for the package; pulling a cigarette out of the case and sticking it between her lips the woman snatched the lighter. The silent click promised a certain ease she was looking forward to.

"I told you that I got a new job, Serah."

Claire inhaled and lowered her lids, slouching back into the couch with a sound of joy. What pills couldn't fix, nicotine was able to pull off easily.

"I forgot. Can't keep everything in my head sis... I have my duties too", Serah paused and listened to the clicking sound in the background, followed by an exhaling sound. "Wait a minute, are you smoking again?"

Duties, huh? Shaking her head and staring at the ceiling the oldest sibling rolled her eyes. It was a duty that could have been easily avoided. Mind stuff like... condoms? Anyway, the result was there now. Three, almost four years old, blonde with greyish lavender coloured eyes (possibly the weirdest shade she could remember) and blessed with a VERY curious nature. Gabriel. Claire couldn't help it but trying to avoid contact with the boy. He looked too much like a copy of her dorky brother-in-law, Snow. Thank the gods he kid didn't inherit his intelligence but the brain of a Farron; the charme however...

STILL. She didn't like children. It wouldn't change even if children would be more adorable than kittens, puppies and BLEEEEH.

Instead she watched the bluish fume floating into the air, creating bizarre patterns and lines like an abstracted snake or dragon, seeking its way through the halfway opened window. This seemed to be the most comforting thing about smoking though- the smoke itself. She exhaled her sorrows and manifested them into a toxic cloud, twirling and snaking upwards to nowhere. Quite a deep thought for this time of the day wasn't it?

"So what?" she snapped eventually.

"I don't like that tone Claire. I know you are still upset but you can't be angry at me forever..."

Oh, did Serah think she was mad? Well, she was. Not about the topic she was implying though. Anyway... that story was way too old and ridiculous to talk about right now, Claire rather dropped it for herself. But she could Serah make believe and totally play the game. She was one hell of a gambler these days.

"Well..." she drew at her cigarette once more and exhaled, this time noisily and with the purpose of pure provocation, "it doesn't mean I can't try, right?"

A low sigh broke the silence between the sisters. Claire moved closer to the table, tipping the ashes off the cigarette she rolled her eyes. Maybe she just went too far with her last response. But it wasn't as if she felt like apologizing. The woman wasn't the type who took things back, no matter what.

"What do you want? You didn't only intend to say hi and tell me how to live my life, did you?"

"Claire!"

She rolled her eyes.

"WHAT? If you called me for small-talk only, you better hang up right away! I need to get ready!"

The woman could imagine her younger sister shake with that trembling bottom lip and the rage crawling up her system. Serah probably didn't deserve such treatment. But the oldest Farron couldn't help it. She was angry, sleepy and felt as if she had a hangover. As a decent plus, the pain was gone – only the gods would know for how long though.

Silence. Would she hang up?

"You don't have to treat me like dirt. We are sisters after all, in case you've forgotten."

The answer came eventually and even if it was silent and soft-spoken with that slight tremor in her voice, it left a bitter and deep impact. Claire hissed and tossed the lighter onto the table.

"For fuck's sake, Serah! Don't make a damn drama out of it! You called, so I assume you want something! And if you don't then stop wasting my time!"

Clenching her fists the woman forced herself to calm down; hastily she drew on her cigarette and waited for the relaxation to take over once more. This time it took longer than usual, like the answer on the other line.

"I'm waiting."

Patience was running short.

"Uh... "

Serah obviously didn't know how to start. Claire assumed that it had to be a topic she wouldn't be fond of in the beginning; otherwise her sister would have simply talked ahead.

"The thing is..."

"Serah. I don't have all day."

She could hear Gabriel and Snow in the background. Her facial features hardened and the oldest sibling seemed glad that her sister wasn't a fan of video calls.

"Well... a friend of mine asked me if you are still... single. So I said you are since you prefer fleet acquaintances, correct me if I'm wrong... and..."

Claire lifted her brows. What the hell was going to come now?

"And?" She pressured Serah to go on, her eyes narrowed to mere slits; the pit of her stomach started to hurt in a really unpleasant way. The woman could imagine what would happen next.

"Eh. She would like to meet you... if that's OK with you."

"... Really now."

"But she is nice! I bet you two would have a nice evening."

The woman could not believe it. She couldn't fucking believe it. Rushing from the couch she got on her feet in an instant, the soles slightly irritated by the cold laminate flooring.

"It's enough that you keep interfering into my love life, but Serah, what the fucking hell? Don't you ever get tired of playing Cupid for people without even knowing that the fuck they want?" she barked into the phone, stalking back and forth like a triggered animal. The level of rage grew within her mind and if her sister would have stood in front of her... she better prayed for mercy.

Serah gasped on the other line and this time the poisoned arrow hit its target.

"Then give her at least a chance, Claire!"

Claire scoffed.

"A. Chance. A CHANCE. Are you kidding me? Am I not even allowed to look around and pick up who I want?"

Something scrambled in the background; the oldest Farron couldn't tell what exactly it was. She only noticed that most of her cigarette was gone, so she lighted a new one.

"Of course you are Claire! It's... it's just... what is it you even want? You pick up women every night as far as I can tell! And every time it is a different one! This... this is wrong. You need someone constantly in your life."

Serah's voice sounded low again, almost like a whisper. Was she really that concerned? It seemed like that.

"ONLY because YOU are married and have a kid you think I want to do the same? Don't shit me. I want my freedom and not someone being overly attached to me 24/7!"

"But you spent almost 24 hours a day with Fa-"

"DON'T GET ME STARTED!"

This time, Claire yelled and slammed a hand against the wall to express her anger. She made her point clear that this topic was over for her, that she didn't want to talk about that issue any moment longer again. There was a long period of silence between both of them. Serah probably didn't see the outburst coming. Well, she should have. The youngest Farron carried most of the blame; and pretending that she wasn't guilty at all made things between both only worse.

"I... I'm sorry..."

The older sibling gritted her teeth.

"You better be sorry, Serah. You better be..."

"Claire?"

God, was she crying right now? Serah's voice sounded so choked and under forced control. No. Claire wasn't supposed to let it go to her head. Instead she shuffled to the mirror hanging on the wall, examining herself. Fuck, did she look terrible. That obviously took her more than one shower to make the woman look presentable.

"... What?"

"... I know this – isn't the right moment to... but... would you mind her coming to the club you work at?"

That girl had guts. Well... a typical Farron. That was one thing they had in common after all.

"Who is SHE anyway?"

"Eh... Lebreau. You know her."

Le-breau. Ruffling her hair, Claire remembered that black haired girl in TERROR. Hell, no! If she was as annoying as in their school time...

"Are you serious? You can't be serious. No. That must be some fucking tasteless joke."

"Dead-serious."

Hastily the woman checked the living room for a hair tie to tame the mess on her head in decent manner. Taking it between her teeth her hands formed a somewhat chaotic ponytail, hissing loudly to express her anger through the phone.

"I thought she couldn't stand me! Remember her words whenever she saw me? Dipshit dyke? What's with that crap all of a sudden?"

"Would you mind? Stop swearing all the time! It's rude!"

"Tch. Like hell I'd do."

"Damn it Claire! That was almost a decade ago! Lebreau's bisexual, just to let you know. She just wasn't sure about it when we were at school."

Serah's response only earned a snort and short laugh of derision.

"Oooooh~ I didn't know that you can change your orientation like hair extensions all of a sudden. What is this bullshit? Am I a toy? A guinea pig? What the hell are you thinking?"

"No need to get sarcastic here. You used to sleep with men too."

Claire heard the typical sigh of resignation coming from her sister. This time, she would have won, right?

"THAT was something different Serah. Don't even think about guilt-tripping me."

"Alright, alright. I'll shut up now! But you will talk to her tonight!"

Fixing the ponytail the older sister rolled her eyes, pretty sure that they would get stuck like this one day. She was so fed up and decided to shoot the bullet right into her sibling's face.

"Yeah, yeah, talk to her. Got it. Now get off the line, I need to shower and have some phone sex later."

"WHAT?"

She rushed over to the table and grabbed the phone to end the call with a defiant swipe and a snarl that would have put any feral creature to shame. Tossing the device onto the couch the woman hissed, scratching the back of her head in annoyance. Great. Just great. There went her plans of inviting the cute waitress of the club for a drink and get more private. Now she just had to deal with an annoying ex-cheerleader bitch that still roamed around in Serah's circle of friends. Life hated her, right?

"Ugh. I wouldn't need to get laid at all," she murmured to herself while she strutted towards the bathroom and huffed through her nostrils, "life surely loves to fuck me every day."

She slammed the door shut and peeled herself out of her clothes, revealing smooth and pale skin bit by bit. Claire took her time to undress as steel-blue eyes lingered on the mirror's reflection, absorbing everything that caught her attention. For instance, the bleached out scar at her chest. Even with crossed arms she knew it was there. She didn't want to look at it, but it wouldn't help. The wound would not go away, remaining as silent reminder – almost mocking her. Slowly the woman removed a hand, fingertips slid over the pale mark in coy, reverential fashion; she shuddered, watching the twin staring back at her in the solitude of her bathroom.

Images haunted her mind.

_The darkness. The muffled cry as someone covered her mouth. Claire could still smell the scent of the leather glove, the musky sweat which seemed so familiar yet threatening. There was no spoken word, no face. Things happened so fast – she didn't even experience the pain which should have followed soon after the sharp sting that broke her skin, the scraping metal hitting and drilling itself into her sternum with brutal force. The disturbing scent of blood that made her feel dizzy and helpless._

Opening her eyes widely, the woman's breath went shallow and rapid. There was no more darkness, only the dazzling light from the ceiling. No musky smell, no leather. She was here. Alone. In the bathroom which seemed so cold and sterile in its bright white. It reminded her of a hospital. A shudder ran down Claire's spine and it took her a while until she was able to calm down; she rested a hand at her chest, forcing herself to inhale and exhale deeply. Avoid the hyperventilation. Come to rest. Things were OK. She was here in safety.

With a low huff of defeat the woman dropped her head; unclasping her bra in slow motion she let it slide to the tiled floor with the panties following soon after. Another fleeting glance was thrown at the chrome-framed mirror before Claire entered the shower cabin. The woman tossed the hair tie at the floor, not caring about its destination for now. The only thing she needed was icy cold water to sort her thoughts and deal with the happenings from the actual day.


End file.
